


Nectarines and Blackberries

by withwingsfly (feathertail)



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Charity Hawktion, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Deaf Clint Barton, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Rescue Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:00:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21797995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathertail/pseuds/withwingsfly
Summary: Clint Barton doesn't give up. Clint Barton doesn't give in. Clint Barton doesn't let up, even when he really, really wants a nap.Aka Clint is rescued from some baddies but is still the BAMF Clint we know and love.A gift fic for Heuradys, for the Charity Hawktion 2019! I hope you enjoy!
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 1
Kudos: 136
Collections: Charity Hawktion 2019





	Nectarines and Blackberries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heuradys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heuradys/gifts).



> Is being beta read currently, will be updated when it has been for clarity's sake!

At first, the base had been loud with the shouts of HYDRA soldiers and the clanging of the heavy bunker doors. Even when most of them were asleep, or at least further away in the base, the doors still clanged, albeit sporadically, the pipe behind him dripped, and there were the guttural grunts from both himself and whichever officer had decided to try to be the one to break him this time. 

He didn’t know what had started it, whether it was the cracking of his head back into the bunker wall again and again, or the burning liquid fire they injected him with, or the punches they threw when he still refused to answer their questions, but his comprehension of the situation was slowly fading. He had no idea how long he’d been there, he didn’t know if it was day or night. He wasn’t even sure what they were asking him any more, or if they were just coming in to throw him around for the pleasure of it. Even the pipe had stopped dripping. 

His wrists had long since chafed themselves bloody, and dried blood, along with other substances, streaked his naked body as it hung limply from the cast iron chains embedded in the ceiling. His toes barely scraped the filthy floor, but they felt the vibrations of heavy boots, and as the door slammed open, Clint’s head snapped up. His eyes were glazed with the intensity of the drugs he had been laced with, but even then, Hawkeye could make out a tall figure dressed all in black, wielding a machine gun in his right arm, a set of keys in the gleaming silver hand of his left.

“Buck,” Clint groaned, sagging against his chains, relief flooding through him, even as he noticed even his own voice sounded faint, but put it down to the number of times he’d screamed himself hoarse over the past… however long it had been.

The cuffs around his ankles went first, and then there was a strong arm around his waist, supporting him as his arms were released. His ribs complained at first, but as soon as his arms were freed, he all but collapsed. His limbs were weak after being strung up for so long, and simply couldn’t hold his weight. He cried out again, and he could feel the vibrations of Bucky’s chest behind him, knew he was saying something, but he couldn’t make out what. He tried so hard to stay awake, but the pain eventually overwhelmed him. As he blacked out, the last thing he saw was Bucky’s worried face, lips shaping his name.

* * *

The world was just as quiet as before when he came round, and he didn’t dare open his eyes. He knew where he was, he was back in that bunker, they’d made him hallucinate again, they- two contrasting temperatures touched his cheeks at the same time, one cold, one warm, and he would have flinched if he hadn’t recognised them so easily. His eyes flew open, and his heart leapt into his throat, as did his voice.

“Bucky!”

But nothing came out. At least, nothing he heard. His vocal chords had vibrated, he’d felt that much, but he hadn’t heard his voice. And, come to think of it, now he looked around the sterile medical room he was lying prone and vulnerable in, he couldn’t hear any of the machines. All of the various whirs, beeps, and otherwise spine-chilling noises had vanished. Bucky touched his cheek again, and Clint lifted eyes, wide with panic, to meet his.

Bucky had a whiteboard in his hand, across which he had scrawled,  _ Docs are working on your hearing. They don’t think it’s permanent.  _ Clint felt a noise emerge from his throat, though what type, he couldn’t fathom, although the heartbroken expression on his partner’s face gave him some idea, as did the fervent scribbling on the whiteboard.

_ It’s gonna be okay. I promise. I’m not leaving you, babe.  _

Clint’s expression must have softened somewhat, because Bucky sat back slightly, looking a little relieved that he wasn’t going to freak out and bolt. He scrawled across the whiteboard and held it up again. 

_ Want some fruit? _

Clint snorted. They both had the outstanding ability to completely ignore a serious situation with the distraction of food, and he nodded fervently, well, as much as his headache would allow. Bucky allowed himself a grin, and poked one of the buttons at Clint’s bedside to elevate him slightly more, and scootching over so he could wiggle his way behind him, supporting his back and giving him much needed contact. He had in his hand a large tupperware box filled to the brim with various fruits, including Clint’s favourites. He cracked open the lid, completely ignoring the black marker scrawled over the top in Natasha’s handwriting that claimed it as hers and no-one else’s, and held out the tub.

Clint’s wrists and arms were heavily bandaged, along with a lot of him, but he appreciated the independence even picking his own fruit gave him. He was slow, not wanting to jolt any injuries, but he finally selected a fragment of nectarine, and lifted it to his lips. He’d obviously been on fluids, he had an IV port in his other hand, and his throat wasn’t dry, but solid food, something he hadn’t had for god knows how long, was good to have again. It gave him a burst of flavour across his tongue, and he obviously made some sort of obscene sound, because he could feel, rather than hear, Bucky’s chuckles behind him. 

He picked up another piece of nectarine, and then, ambitiously, grabbed a handful of blackberries. It paid off, Bucky’s arm curled gently around his middle, and he leaned his bandaged head back onto his partner’s shoulder. His back buzzed with vibrations from Bucky’s chest for a moment, and he tried to turn and try to lip read what he was saying, but as he bit into his third blackberry, he realised it was constant, and to a beat. Bucky was humming a song of some sort, and, well, if he hadn’t fallen for the bastard already, he would have by now. And even if he didn’t get his hearing back, well. They’d manage, the two of them. Them against the world, the two musketeers, with Nat as a tagalong if she insisted.

“I love you,” he mumbled, and Bucky’s humming stopped. His chest vibrated again, briefly, and Clint couldn’t hear what he said, but he knew. And he knew everything would be alright.


End file.
